Brodie's Gamble (10 page)

Reining Hunter to a stop, he swung to the ground, loosening his coat as the sun’s rays pierced the clouds. He scanned the area around the cabin. Nothing moved and he noticed no new tracks since the last visit. Throwing open the front door, he stepped inside, his gaze landing on the spot where Maggie said she’d hit Arnie. Sunlight washed over the area, making it easy to search for any traces of evidence they may have missed.

Brodie knelt down next to the spot he’d first seen blood. It had dried and seeped into the rough wood floor. The size of the stain seemed normal for a gash on the back of his head, but too small for the damage done to Arnie’s face. If he’d been killed in the cabin, there would’ve been much more blood and a definite trail leading outside.

The doctor told Brodie it would’ve been unlikely Arnie died from the injury to his head. Extreme pain for days, wooziness for several hours, but not death. His face was another matter. The amount of blood loss would’ve been critical. The doctor believed the crack in his skull, across the middle of his forehead, killed him.

Brodie thought the beating had to have taken place outside. Stepping out the door, he walked the path to where they found the shallow grave. Maggie would’ve had to carry him out or drag him through the front door, around to the back of the cabin, and behind the stable.

He guessed Maggie weighed no more than a hundred twenty pounds. The doctor said Arnie weighed over two hundred. That ruled out her carrying him. The only way for her to move the body would’ve been to drag it, yet he couldn’t find any markings to support that conclusion—no trail of blood and no evidence a trail had been obscured by brushing it away.

Brodie also reminded himself she’d run for hours to reach Conviction and report what happened. Maggie had been so frantic when she rushed into the jail, he wondered if she even realized what she’d said—admitting she may have killed Arnie. Fear, exhaustion, her first taste of freedom in almost two years—all of that could have contributed to her blurting out a confession.

His instincts, combined with what he’d figured out today, told him Maggie was innocent of dealing the fatal blow to Arnie Stoddard. Knocked him out? Yes. Killed him? Doubtful. Brodie believed a good lawyer could piece together a defense any jury would accept.

A bigger mystery remained. Who arrived at the cabin after Maggie left, and why did they want Arnie Stoddard dead?

Maggie had tossed and turned on the thin, uncomfortable bed all night. Images of Brodie leaning over her, lowering his mouth to capture hers, then pulling away in horror woke her more than once, her clothes soaked, head swirling. The look he’d given her when he’d broken their kiss haunted her. Disgust and pity passed over his face before he’d taken her by the elbow, roughly guiding her back to the jail and her cell.

Opening her eyes to the sound of men talking, she swung her feet to the floor and sat up. Rubbing her eyes, she concentrated on the voices, recognizing Brodie and Jack whispering. All she could make out was Brodie saying he expected to be back by noon.

Drawing her knees up to her chest, she moved back against the wall, closing herself off from everything around her, much as she did while living with Arnie. It was her fantasy world. One she created in order to disappear from the grim reality of what had become her life. Nothing had changed since Arnie died. She still found herself retreating, locking herself off from the rest of the world and the pain it caused. The only way she’d experience peace was to escape. Get as far away from Conviction, and Brodie MacLaren, as possible.

Maggie let out a relieved breath at the sound of the front door closing. Brodie had left, leaving Jack in charge. She smiled, realizing her chance may have come sooner than she expected. An hour passed before she heard the voice of a man she didn’t recognize. Within minutes, Jack and the other man, a U.S. Marshal, unlocked David Meeks’ cell, escorting him by gunpoint to the front. No one spared her a glance, as if she were invisible. She wished it were true.

Hearing the men leave, she walked to the front of her cell, wrapping her fingers around the bars.

“Deputy?” She waited a moment, then tried again. “Deputy, are you out there?”

“Just hold on a minute. I’m coming.” Jack came around the corner. “Been a right busy morning, Miss King.”

“I saw you take Mr. Meeks out.”

“Yep. That U.S. Marshal arrived right on time. Now, what can I do for you?”

Maggie nodded toward the back.

“Oh, sure. I’ll just get the key.” A few seconds later he returned with the key in one hand, Brodie’s extra gun in the other. “You just step back until I get this door open.”

“Thank you, Deputy.” Maggie smiled sweetly as she walked past him and out the door to the privy. Glancing around, she saw a few people milling about at the far end of the alley, but they weren’t paying them any attention. “I won’t take long.”

Walking around to the door that faced a large stand of trees, she stepped inside, using the piece of wood in one corner to brace it closed. Steeling herself, Maggie thought through what she was about to do. Earlier, while lying on the bed and staring at the ceiling, she’d gone over the plan until it became real and not another one of her fantasies.

Her stomach roiled as she studied the piece of wood holding the door closed. It had been her plan to use it to knock Jack out, grab his gun, and take off. After what happened to Arnie, the thought of striking another man, someone who’d done her no harm, didn’t feel right. Yet she had no choice. This was her one chance at freedom. When Brodie returned, her opportunity would be lost and there might never be another. With a shaky hand, she grasped the rough-hewn stick, tightening her fingers around it. Taking a deep breath, letting it out slowly, she pushed the door open a crack, then shrank back at the sound of gunfire.

“Deputy, you gotta come quick. They’re holding a man at gunpoint.” She could hear what sounded like boots running on gravel, a man panting as if out of breath.

“I can’t come now. I gotta—”

“Jack, the men are threatening to kill him,” the man rasped out. “You are the new deputy, right?”

A crack between the boards allowed her enough space to peek through, seeing a short man holding a bowler hat in one hand, gesturing down the street with the other.

“Well, yes, I’m the new deputy, but—”

“They say he tried to sneak out of the hotel without paying his bill. Now they’re saying they’ll kill him if he doesn’t pay up.”

She could see the indecision on Jack’s face as he glanced over his shoulder at the front of the privy.

“We don’t have time for you to fiddle around, Jack. Come on.” The man took off at a run, gesturing for Jack to follow.

“Hold on. I’m coming.” He faced the privy. “Miss King, now you just stay right there and don’t go nowhere. I’ll be right back. You hear me?”

She sucked in a breath, not quite believing her good fortune. “Yes, I hear you.”

“All right then. You just wait for me.” He ran after the man, not once glancing back over his shoulder before he dashed around a corner and disappeared.

Still holding the stick in her hand, she pushed the door open, took a good look around, and ran.

“She told me she’d wait, Sheriff. Promised not to leave.” Jack sat outside the jail, his face buried in his hands as he waited for Brodie to dismount and walk up the steps.

“Who, Jack?” Brodie fisted his hands on his hips, glaring at the deputy, a sense of dread washing over him.

Jack glanced up. “Miss King. She—”

Brodie didn’t wait to hear the rest. Throwing the door open, he dashed to the back, his jaw dropping, first at her empty cell, then at the man who sat on the bed of another.

“Afternoon, Sheriff. Seems you may be missing a prisoner.” Sam Covington crossed his arms and leaned against the wall.

“What the hell are you doing in there, Covington?” Brodie didn’t look at him, his gaze still fixed on the cell where he’d left Maggie the night before.

“Seems there’s been an unfortunate misunderstanding.”

“Another one? Appears those misunderstandings seem to follow you around.” Trying to contain his anger before he lit into Jack, Brodie focused on Sam. “What happened?”

“I made the poor choice of staying the night upstairs at Lucky’s Saloon. When I awoke, my money, watch, and identification were gone.”

“So you took off?”

“Of course not.” His indignant voice almost had Brodie grinning. “I decided a trip to the bank was needed, as well as another telegram to Pinkerton. Before I could leave, a couple
gentlemen
tossed me outside and threatened to kill me if I didn’t produce the money forthwith. When your new deputy showed up, they pressed charges. So here I am. A guest in your jail.”

Muttering a curse, Brodie stared at Sam. “Just what I need,” he grumbled before turning to find Jack standing in the doorway of the jail. “Get in here and explain to me how one unarmed female got away from you.” He’d calmed down some since hearing of her escape. She couldn’t get far on foot without funds or a weapon.

Brodie listened as Jack went through his version of what happened—taking her outside, the gunfire, arresting Sam, and realizing Maggie had run off.

“Did you try to find her?”

Jack shook his head. “I locked Covington inside, then went out to fetch her. Couldn’t tell which way she went with all the brush and thick leaves.” He jumped out of his chair and began to pace. “She told me she’d wait for me to get back, Sheriff.”

Brodie pinched the bridge of his nose, sending an incredulous look at Jack. “And you believed her?”

Jack’s face fell as he slumped back into the chair. “Maybe I ain’t cut out to be a deputy.”

Maybe not
, Brodie thought, shifting slightly in his chair to spear Jack with a hard look. “You made a mistake, lad. I’m going to guess you won’t make the same one again.”

Jack shook his head. “No, sir. I learned my lesson good.”

Brodie slapped his hands on the desk and stood. “Aye, I believe you probably did.” He had an idea while talking with Jack. One he wanted to put into action right away if he was going to start a search for Maggie.

“Now, why would I want to do that, Sheriff?” Sam paced to the front of the cell, a smile tilting up the corners of his mouth.

“Seems you don’t have much of a choice. Lucky’s is charging you with trying to avoid paying for your room, you have no identification, meaning no one knows exactly who you are, and you have no way to get more funds. Am I correct?” Brodie crossed his arms, resting his back against the wall separating the cells from the front of the jail. He wouldn’t admit he’d hoped the ex-Pinkerton man would make a mistake like this.

“You can vouch for me. You have the telegram Allan Pinkerton sent, confirming my status as an agent.” Sam’s face hardened when he realized the game Brodie was playing.

“As much as I hate to admit it, I can’t seem to recall any telegram.”

Sam walked to within a breath of the bars, his gaze fixed on Brodie, who’d moved within a foot of him.

“What do you want, MacLaren?”

“You come to work for me as a deputy. I’ll pay the money to Lucky’s and get them to drop the charges.”

“How long?”